Surprise Café
by head full of doubt
Summary: 'John's personal philosophy was simple: until the day Sherlock was willingly nice to Anderson, nothing could surprise him.' John is well acquainted with Anthea, Mycroft's PA, from the many times she has helped kidnap him. John is also well acquainted with Mary, his new date and girlfriend. Funny how he has never seen the two of them together...
1. Surprise Café

**Author's Note:**

**─Inspired by An Escaped Rabbit's reader challenge─**

**This first chapter just sort of happened over a period of few days. I'm happy to say that's one of the longest chapters I've written to date! Plot: You'll find out. Characters: the main characters that I expect to be... main... (awkward wording there) include John, a female, and Sherlock.****.. ****Enjoy!**

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><p><em>Prelude<em>

John's personal philosophy was simple: until the day Sherlock was willingly nice to Anderson, nothing could surprise him.

It was accurate for quite a long time. So long, in fact, that John was almost positive it would hold true forever. After all, he had spent ten years an army doctor, when danger were the norm, the selection of the hour. A bomb could go off anywhere, an enemy attack could commence anytime─John still dreamed about his war days sometimes.

As a civilian doctor too, he had to be ready for anything─more often than not, things like keeping a straight face when that paranoid lady who thought she had the Ebola virus asked for an _antibiotic_ pill ("I won't take no for an answer, doctor!" she insisted anxiously). And living with Sherlock Holmes, of course, John expected the flat to be a disaster area when he came home─whether it be a cloud of down feathers adrift in the sitting room or insect parts littering the kitchen floor. That was the everyday routine.

But John knew that someday, his luck, if it could be called that, would fade. He wouldn't be fazed by a surprise birthday party, or a body part in the fridge, or anything as trivial as that. No, it would have to be something really spectacular to surprise the steadfast rock that was John Watson...

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><p>John was seated in the most remote corner of the café, waiting anxiously and cursing at his failing courage, as his vanilla caramel latte accepted the fact that despite the great pains its procurer had taken in ordering it correctly, it wouldn't be drunk anytime soon. Just as the latte's whipped cream began to wilt, the bells on the cafe's door rang once again and John's ears perked up.<p>

_Maybe that woman was _her_!_

He leaned awkwardly to see past his neighbors' shoulders, who were remarkably unaware, buried in their laptops, and caught a glimpse of a lavender silk blouse and coiffed dirty blonde hair. John coughed, blushing bright red. He panicked as fifteen sets of eyes turned around and stared at him, so he hid his face, leaning into the corner, where he stifled his coughs and inwardly winced at the embarrassing incident. John waited, counting silently to himself (one, two, three), until he had reached thirty and hoped the café had returned to its collective business, not continued to gaze at his face. Fortunately, the chatter of hungry Londoners was continuous and he was able to look around without drawing attention to himself. _Where was she?_ John spotted three dirty blondes seated at tables, only two of whom were female, and none of which were wearing purple. His field of vision was suddenly interrupted by a green-apple-crayon-colored green apron.

"Excuse me, Sir?" the waitress said. John refocused his eyes. _She was quite good-looking_... But he pinched himself, remembering his purpose in coming to Speedy's.

"Yes?" He folded his arms in a futile attempt to appear dignified. The waitress (whose name happened to be Jeanette) was inwardly laughing at him. She leaned over the table, clutching a black leather-textured menu in her hands that was flattened against the table.

"I'm sorry, I'm looking for a Dr. John Watson? He's wanted at the counter. His date is looking for him."

"That would be winner... I mean me... and you're the lucky winner in finding me..." stammered John awkwardly. "Thanks, I'll go now," he amended.

John grabbed his jacket, and quickly turning again to take his latte also, in an unusual moment of forethought, headed towards the center of the café. That's when he saw his date properly for the first time. John realized that his view of her seat at the counter had been interrupted by an inconvenient segment of wall, and sighed in relaxation, knowing that he wasn't crazy.

John inched towards her seat, suddenly aware that he was speechless. He had absolutely no idea what to say to her. Possibilities rushed through his head. _"Hello, my name is Dr. John Watson." No, too formal... __"Hi, I'm John Watson. I'm a GP." Nah, that just sounded awkward... "The waitress pointed me towards you. Are you my date?" No, way too clueless. "Excuse me?" No, not just that..._

His body, as if acting upon its own will, stepped forwards and took the empty seat adjacent to her.

"Um, hi."

"Hi!" she answered.

"Are you─?"

"Yes... so you're─?"

"Yes."

"I don't suppose...?"

"Yes?"

"Your name?"

"Oh, of course... I'm John Watson," said John. 'Thank goodness,' his brain said. _What?_ he asked himself. 'You didn't mess that one up. That's a first,' it answered. _Hey_... he said to himself. _I'm not called Three Continents Watson for nothing_... 'Well, you're not exactly the dating type', his brain challenged. _That's true_, he thought. Then he shook his head and came back to the café. "Yeah, I'm John."

"That's a nice name," she said. "I like it."

"Oh, come on," he answered, disbelievingly. "You can't possibly believe 'John' is nice. There's probably five other 'John's here right now, just in this room! My name is practically the opposite of unique."

"It's nice all the same. I'm Mary," she said.

"Now that is a name..." John mused, running his fingers over his chin in the style of 'The Thinker'. Mary laughed. "Plenty of charm, easy on the tongue, historical relevance...now _that's_ a name..."

"Stop teasing!" she said, wearing the expression of a child stealing chocolate, who knows she is going to be caught but does it anyway. Mary's mouth quirked as she smiled knowingly at him.

"Like to sit somewhere else? A booth maybe?"

"Oh, sure," said John. "Whatever you like." He followed Mary as they found a waitress and arranged themselves a nicer table, grinning behind her back at his luck. Sure, she was beautiful, but she was sweet and funny as well. After they had both gotten settled, Mary started to ask the typical get-to-know-you questions.

"So... what do you do?"

"I'm a GP. I mean, I was an army doctor, but now I'm a GP. What about you?"

"Oh, this and that..."

"Come on, I told you mine!" exclaimed John.

"About now, I'm a nurse. I... just starting working at St. Bartholomew's! Oh! You're─uh, you said you were a doctor. So we match perfectly!"

"Really? It's strange we haven't met... when did you start working there? Because I work there too!"

"Just two weeks ago," said Mary, after counting on her fingers. John noticed how dexterous they were.

"Oh, that explains it. You see, I haven't been in for a week or so..."

John growled to himself and performed a barely noticeable, angry eyebrow roll.

Mary thought she heard John mutter the words 'Sherlock,' experiment,' and 'bloody hell.' She wrinkled her nose in confusion.

"Excuse me?" she said. "Sorry─did you say something?"

"It's nothing. Only, my flatmate─"

"Did you say flatmate?"

"Oh─yeah. His name is Sherlock. He's a real pain. He hates when I invite girlfriends over..."

John, saying this, realized how it sounded, and backpedaled. "I mean, in theory. I hardly ever invite anyone over anyway─not that I'm not sociable, I have loads of friends, both genders─"

"John," said Mary. "Whatever you were trying to say just now─"

John winced, then laughed.

"─I don't care. As long as 'Sherlock' is male," she said.

"I'm pretty sure..." John told her, smiling to show her that he was kidding. They looked around the café in alternate directions, suddenly unsure of what to say. John noticed the building gradually growing emptier, and checked his mobile surreptitiously─at least he meant to. Instead, his phone started blaring his ringtone, showing an incoming message from Sherlock. John had a double-take. Due to Sherlock's almost-mantra of, "I prefer to text," John had hardly ever received a call from his flatmate. He imagined the worst and instantly stood up.

"I'm so, so sorry, Mary, but I really have to go," he said, grabbing his jacket and scribbling something on his check, fumbling for a few notes to pay for his unfinished latte.

"I've got it," she said. "It's okay, John."

"No, it's not. I shouldn't be doing this. But I think it's an emergency─"

"Just go!"

"When can I meet you again?!"

"Invite me over, like one of those girlfriends you mentioned."

John wasn't sure how to react to this request. His mouth was open, but silent in his uncertainty.

"Kidding! But honestly, you can if you'd like. Here's my number! Call me if you don't see me at work, whenever you like," she said quickly.

"Thanks!" answered John. He reached forward and kissed her hand. "My lady."

There was a pause as Mary looked up from her hand into John's eyes, glowing with happiness. Then she frowned.

"I thought you had to _be_ somewhere!" cried Mary.

"Oh─I do─"

"But thanks for the kiss..." said Mary, smiling warmly.

"Of course," he replied. "Bye for now!"

"Good bye, John!"

"Bye!"

"Bye!"

And he was gone, running out the door, his jacket billowing out behind him like his flatmate's infamous black coat. Mary was left to pay for the check all by herself, but she didn't mind. She was already thinking about her next meeting with the hapless, adorable, moody, hilarious, tough, kind, doctor, John Watson.


	2. Mycroft's Plan

**A/N: Chapter two! This will perhaps introduce how my story relates to An Escaped Rabbit's marvelous prompt! So ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?**

***crowd answers YAASSS***

**Hope you enjoy! Read and review please, as always?**

**And because I always forget to say this: I own nothing. Not even one lock of Benny's hair... :'(**

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><p>Enter username: _ _ _ _<p>

The cursor blinked steadily on the provided line. Mycroft scowled. There were two ways to unlock a computer: the tedious, civilian way, and the Way of The British Government. It wasn't hard to guess which way he himself preferred.

Mycroft typed into the blank quickly, recalling the letters and digits with obnoxious ease.

_Gx27950fje108_

It responded with an irritating 'ding'.

Enter password: _ _ _ _

He obliged the machine. The whole ordeal wasn't in any way difficult, simply unnecessary. The best way to do things was clearly to install retina scanners in all computers: a foolproof, instantaneous method. Only, _some people_ had objected, with ridiculous claims:

"You could be kidnapped, and forced to divulge sensitive information from the computer using an eye scanner, in a matter of seconds. Mr. Holmes, we simply cannot afford to take that risk."

He had responded coolly yet sarcastically, with irrefutable logic.

"And, of course, a pass-word system would remove _any_ possibility of myself being forced to divulge a code. _No_ assassin would just... _kill me,_ if I happened to give them the wrong password... on purpose..."

"Thank you! I'm glad you have chosen to see sense at last."

It never failed. Even the 'brightest, most important persons' in The British Government were, to be perfectly candid, absolute idiots compared to himself. It was a wonder the building hadn't fallen down yet.

Obviously, no assassin would have even a remote chance of threatening Mycroft, thanks to his massive intellect and knowledge of self-defense. But if they did, a password system would be a hilarious lack of resistance against the theft of government secrets. Alas, the stubborn British Government failed to realize that.

Mycroft returned to the arduous task at hand.

_Lni276k_

_Lni276k3lm_

_Lni276k3lm405_

He scanned the dialogue box, and then clicked "log in".

"Wonderful," he commented wryly. "Only six more to go."

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><p>Mycroft entered his next six usernames and passwords in the six separate computers that surrounded the first:<p>

_R19bcy8zfp684_ and _Erw273rsq01h5_,

_Eavk7jti9uxd5_ and _SclhOmk681230_,

_Gvde730645jgu_ and _Tkma5100pPfy7_,

_O43qus82uddnj_ and _Rn61ktyofiply_,

_Rot04tgpj340t_ and _Aj53t8wra9ek7_,

_Ycok39gloh224_ and _DEajkr709guis_.

He was slightly fatigued after entering all seven pairs, and heard a rumble coming from somewhere behind him...in him? Mycroft realized with alarm that his stomach was rumbling. He was hungry.

"Anthea, would you mind─?" he called towards the next room.

"What flavor?"

"Carrot. Leave off the frosting," Mycroft said mournfully. Cream cheese frosting was his favorite, but he had received one too many taunts from Sherlock about his weight. He waited until the click of Anthea's high heels (_red, slightly worn on left pinkie toe area, bought two months ago at Harrods..._) had retreated and then continued with his chore.

Mycroft was already at the specific webpage on each computer, stroking his chin as he debated the answer to each question. _Favorite color? Favorite activities?_ He didn't know these things off the top of his head, but they could be easily deduced. Mycroft entered his mind palace, searching the chambers of the country estate for the necessary information. With no luck on one side of the information spectrum, he decided to call his PA for the remaining answers.

"Anthea?"

"Here," she said smoothly, appearing by his side ─ at the door, where he was standing to prevent her from entering any further. She spoke again, her voice surprised but necessarily restrained. "Mr. Holmes?"

"I see no need for you to advance any further, Anthea," he maintained sternly. She nodded slowly and turned on her heels, walking away swiftly. _That's strange_, she thought. _Why is Mycroft on a dating site?_

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><p>It had been Mycroft's goal for weeks to arrange something between John and his PA. The matter was quite simple, really. He himself wanted─well, needed─Sherlock's contentment in order to do his job well. Sherlock needed John to be happy, and not always 'in the way', even though they were practically inseparable on those cases of his. John─well, John was who he, Mycroft, was trying to set up. By Mycroft's estimate, John had dated over 15 different women over the last two years. Clearly, none of the above 15 could have been a good match for the good doctor. Now, Mycroft wasn't a romantic (far from it), but he knew that John was missing a certain quality in his dates. It could be intelligence, it could be character, it could be something financial, it could be her beauty. Mycroft, unfortunately, had to admit that he did not know what that quality was. But he was certain that the moment he saw it, he would recognize it.<p>

Now, Anthea. She was a crucial part of the plot from the beginning, rather the inspiration. Mycroft's thoughts had wandered to John only because of her. He knew that she was dissatisfied sometimes; lonely, perhaps. He could tell by the way she looked out the window in between her savage bursts of texting when they kidnapped John (still a regular occurrence), that she had hopes and dreams, wishes for something else that were unfulfilled. At first he paid no attention to the matter. After all, every one of those ordinary goldfish-people had their dramas. It was to be expected, he and Sherlock had declared as children. So Mycroft chose to place her in charge of finding John's date. He would have her interview and then collect that special someone when she had been found.

But one day, in the midst of preventing an Iraqi airstrike on Antarctica (another day, another military threat), Mycroft had a thought. Much as he liked to lump his PA with the other 7 billion goldfish of the world, 7 billion airheads who had nary an intelligent thought in their lives (he could make the occasional exception), Anthea was rather intelligent. It was why he had selected her for his assistant in the first place. Then another, more brilliant thought came to mind.

Why not let her be the special someone? It was perfect. He would match Anthea with John to make the perfect couple. Of course, she couldn't be informed in advance who she would be meeting... it would spoil the surprise.

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><p>That's how Mycroft hatched his plan.<p>

So, as he clicked the final box of the site survey to confirm the pair's compatibility, hacked the site to fake their consent, and waited for confirmation of their match to appear, Mycroft yawned and decided to celebrate with another slice of cake─the first long gone.

"Strawberry this time ─ tell the chef to hold the fresh-whipped cream," he spoke lazily into the intercom.

A moment later, Anthea appeared, carrying a silver cake stand and cake, which felt shockingly out-of-place adjacent to her polished black blazer and pencil skirt. Mycroft accepted the platter wordlessly. Anthea exhaled, about to leave yet again, but unusually determined, stopped in her tracks and turned back to Mycroft. Her uncontained desire to learn about his business on the dating site overwhelmed her, manifesting itself into a polite question that diverted from her true purpose. She knew him well, and how he would hopefully respond.

"Anything else, Mr. Holmes?"

"There's always something else. And unusually, today it pertains to yourself."

That was something. Her typical duties involved Mr. Holmes on his daily travels, taking care of his paperwork, and doing his less private computing (despite his 6 computers, Anthea was majorly responsible for the grunt work - on her own little laptop). Anthea spoke again, daringly.

"May I ask what exactly you are referring to, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, let's see. Firstly, you are to cancel any activities planned for Friday night. You are needed at precisely 13:00 for a unique task. I have arranged for you a... what's the word?... ah, yes: date."

"Excuse me?!" said Anthea, bewildered, yet simultaneously outraged. "─Mr. Holmes," she added quickly.

"I know you heard me correctly. I never repeat myself," he replied. His eyes searched her expectantly as if waiting for a 'thank you'. There was silence in the room. Anthea could hear nothing but the buzz of computers in action.

"I assume this... task... will aid in the capture of a terrorist group? A threatening persona, perhaps?" she asked warily.

"Not exactly."

Anthea's normally attractive features morphed into raised eyebrows and a quizzical gaze. She could not fathom why Mycroft, of all people, would be asking her to go on a date. Realizing how that sounded, she jumped, startled at the implication. _Did her boss want to... for lack of a better word, take their relationship to the next level?_ But that was impossible. Anthea knew better than anyone how true Moriarty's unique nickname for Mr. Holmes was.

"Why, then, am I to go on a date, Mr. Holmes?"

"That's my business... Anthea. You'd do well not to question my decisions."

"I see... Mr. Holmes."

And with that Anthea departed the office.

The next day, she was informed of the café where she was intended to meet a mysterious man: Mr. Watson. A simple Google search on her part, however, brought up thousands of results, only in the London area. Finding the correct one would be impossible, as Mycroft refused to tell her. Anthea was not told why she was to meet this man, or how to behave, or any of the normal facts that were typically in her assignment folder. In fact, she wasn't even given an assignment folder. She was walking into a potentially dangerous encounter with absolutely no information about who she was meeting. _Oh well_, she thought. _All in a day's work in the office of Mycroft Holmes._

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><p>Anthea almost blew her cover the moment John Watson appeared beside her in the café that Friday. <em>There was no way this was right! What if John recognized her?<em> she thought. But that was impossible. She had disguised herself impeccably that morning: two coats of hair color (blonde instead of her usual dark brown), different clothes, and different makeup. Still, her nerves were at a rare high as she attempted a conversation with the man who was no stranger. She suspected her sentences sounded awkward, but improved throughout their 'date' together until she was positive that she sounded charming, kind, and carefree. John was obviously under the impression that she had chosen to see him in particular, she thought (although John had actually been summoned by an anonymous e-mail message). There was only one problem: in her few moments of surprise, fear, and confusion, Anthea had made a crucial, haunting mistake.

She had told John her real name.


End file.
